It troubles me.
It just troubles me is all.
Her black suit was sharp and crisp.
The straps of her heels caressed her ankles.
Hair was bobbed, ears held only one pair of studs.
Most importantly, her voice was smoky, husky, and worn.
I didn’t mean to tune into the conversation.
But the name drop drew me in.
“Well, you know I’m a follower of Bishop [_________],”
She said this boastfully and smiled knowingly.
The name was prominent enough for recognition to glow in the man’s eyes.
“Oh yes, yes. Well, you know, I once fasted for 2 months straight only allowing myself water.”
He spread his hands in the air for emphasis. “And it was just… incredible.”
“Wow,” she said solemnly. “I see you destined for doing many things.”
It was almost like they were trying to one up each other.
Win the gold in the Church Olympics.
I’ve heard conversations like that one before.
Interactions that make me question.
Scenes that make me cringe.
Like the tall televangelist who allows a man of shorter stature to jump up repeatedly to wipe beads of sweat from his brow.
Like jeweled blazer-wearing gospel singers who dismissively sign autographs.
Like guest ministers who require $25,000 honoraria including a $7,000 fee for fueling their private jet.
Like women who designate the preacher’s wife as their icon.
Like ministers who flash their collars like backstage passes.
Ambition has replaced humility.
Lowliness is outshined by limelight.
Pedestals for men have been cemented in the house of the divine Servant.
How did we get here?
Our flavor is fading and we will surely soon blend in.
No longer indistinguishable.
No longer peculiar.
No longer useful.
It troubles me.
It troubles is all.